


The Dating Game

by DorianDrifting



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, Garrett and Nick are stoners, I don't know how it happened but it feels right, M/M, Secret Tumblr Gets Leaked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-07-07 04:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorianDrifting/pseuds/DorianDrifting
Summary: Simon never considered that Martin Addison would actually leak his private Tumblr. Or that the entire student body would spend their time deconstructing his "Dear Blue" posts on the hunt for the "girl" Simon must be in love with.





	1. We Have a Situation

 

>  Dear Blue,
> 
> It’s suffocating, really. How infatuated with someone I could be. With you, more specifically, but I digress. I wonder if anyone (read: me) makes you feel this way? Like do you ever just talk to them and feel a sharp ache in your gut because you’re overwhelmed that this person could exist and not be yours? It’s stupid too because we’re not close. Maybe you’re just an idea in my head that I can’t shake. All I know is that I’ll be going about my day and you’ll smile or say something that’s so unexpected that I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be a part of your life.
> 
> Love, Jacques 

     That was the last post I made before everything went to shit, before Martin Addison decided to take fate into his own hands, my fate, that is. I’m almost mad at myself at how Generation Z this situation is, that I am irresponsible enough to leave my laptop open during theater rehearsal. But then I remember that victim-blaming isn’t cool and that Martin’s still a huge piece of shit for scribbling down my Tumblr URL for blackmail. Under normal circumstances, someone from school finding my Tumblr hardly warrants more than a brief mental-breakdown where I furiously work to unblog my latest slew of embarrassing reblogs, but these are far from normal circumstances.

     I hadn’t even realized that I was still open to my second blog, which is why after rehearsal I find myself unrebloging the usual Harry Potter and meme related content that is much more typical of my first blog. It seems like a no harm, no foul situation. I mean, sure, now my angsty second blog followers got to see the other, more fanboy part of myself, but who’s to say that both parts aren’t equally as important? I guess Martin Addison. Because when I wake up to notifications from the Creek Secret School Tumblr, it’s not my fan account that’s screenshotted heavily and linked with the caption “Let the dating game begin: $100 bucks to the first person who can figure out who Simon Spier is so in love with.”

     For the first few minutes, I’m nearly positive I’m going to throw up. And just when I think that my stomach is under control, I projectile into the empty recycling bin my mother was convinced would unilaterally save this planet six months ago. I’m momentarily grateful.

     I’m spared the vigorous clean-up process of my weak stomach, but not of my life, unfortunately. Somewhere in the distance (about five feet) I hear my phone ringing. I can just make out Leah’s photo from where I’m hunched over. I answer the call and hear her distinct, “Simon Irvin Spier.”

     I want to at least answer, but somewhere deep in my stomach I know that if I do the bile of ten thousand men (of which only one I’ve dreamed about) will be in this bin too.

I hang up.

     Which I’m sure in retrospect will be catastrophic, because Leah is not the kind of girl I should hang up on. Not that Leah is just any “kind of girl”; she’d call that sexist language. She’d probably be right. I don’t know.

     Immediately a text from Leah pops up.

_Really?_

     I wish I could have an answer for all of life’s most difficult questions. And I know that one word doesn’t seem like it could be that challenging to answer, but it’s really so all-encompassing, like _why are you really like this Simon? How could you really keep this information from your best friends? Is this really your blog? Are you really in love with this kid? Who really is this person?_

    Yeah, I imagine that one day I can answer such a loaded question, but, for now, I resign myself to turning my phone off.

     The notifications from my second Tumblr is what really gets me. A few (approximately thirty) posts have now skyrocketed in reblogs and likes. In Creek Secret nosey bitch fashion, it’s all the posts addressed to Blue. To Bram. To the boy with a soft smile and soccer calves that should be illegal. To the boy so irrefutably straight I caught him making out with a minion sophomore year at Garrett's “Legendary” Halloween party. Garrett made us call it that. But if I disliked minions before, the sight of them now was enough to put a bad taste in my mouth (or perhaps it’s the vomit?).

     The most alarming thing that happens next is seeing Bram Greenfeld like one of my post. I mean I see it happen with my own two eyes. Technically, he didn’t even like it from me, but rather some rose aesthetic blog run by Taylor Metternich. But still, I’m thoroughly convinced that some higher power is playing a sick game with me. When I click on the post, it’s not what I expect. Which I actually should expect from Bram. He’s not the average kid at Shady Creek. If he was I probably wouldn’t have a whole second blog dedicated to the gay angst™ he gives me on a near-daily basis.

> Dear Blue,
> 
> You’re the Halloween Oreo of cookies.
> 
> Sincerely, Jacques

     Suddenly, I’m sweating. A singular bead makes its way down my forehead like a fake tear droplet in Laura Lee’s apology video. I’m hit with the realization that Bram likely remembers our exchange of snacks last October, which included me trading him Halloween Oreos for a handful of Reese's Pieces. To be honest, they were half melted in Bram’s hand, because global warming is kicking Georgia’s ass even in Autumn, but I was not about to turn down anything Bram Greenfeld had to offer.

     I have a bad habit of that, to be quite frank. At the beginning of this school year, I got dragged to Garrett’s house for “studying”, which really turned into Nick, Garrett, and Bram smoking from Garrett’s new piece. I should’ve known there was an ulterior motive considering it was literally the second week of school and how much homework could anyone truly have? It was a really cool piece though to be fair. The end of the pipe was a dragon head so it looked like it was breathing fire every time they let go of the carb. They know I don’t really smoke, so no one offered until they were high off their respective asses, and the second bowl they packed still wasn’t cashed. Bram offered it to me, and without thinking I grabbed it from him. It dawned on me that I had never smoked out of anything but a blunt. It became apparent to Bram rather quickly as I continued to burn myself trying to light the bowl.

     “Here, let me help”. He had reached for lighter and held the bowl with his forefinger against the carb.

     I peaked a glance at Nick and Garrett and noticed they had disappeared. I could hear a chip bag crinkling from the kitchen, followed by a long drawn out moan from Garrett.  
     “I fucking love chips, Nick.”

     I snorted and turned my attention back to Bram who was stifling a laugh.

     “Come on, Si.”

     It was the first and only time he ever called me Si and I felt a little less sober, high on Bram’s voice. So I leaned in and took the pipe lightly between my lips. Bram leaned in closer to light the bowl and we were only a few inches apart. I made the mistake of looking up at him to find that he was staring at me too. Irrevocably trapped in the moment, I breathed in a long stretch of smoke. I should’ve pulled back, but I didn’t want it to be over. I mean, how often do I get a chance to just look at Bram? Not often enough if you ask me. I wanted to memorize his dark eyes and the way his dimples are almost permanently on display when he’s high because he can’t help but to smile.

     “FUCK.” I jumped back against the couch, choking. My whole body was alive while my throat was simultaneously dying.

     Nick and Garrett came back into the room. Smoke cleared from my line of vision and I made out two matching grins.

     “Simon Irwin Spier, is that marijuana in my good white Christian home?” Garrett inquired, tapping his foot like a suburban mom disappointed in her son.

     “It’s Bram’s.”

     Bram looked unreasonably appalled. “Really? You’re gonna blame the black guy? I thought you were better than that, Simon.”

     I laughed but felt the weight of being Simon again.

     The high made its way down my body, and I spent the whole night with a dopey smile I had spent the last few years suppressing. If someone had asked, I would’ve said it was a by-product of the weed. It most definitely was not because of the beautiful boy that sat legs parted, breathing out smoke like the definition of casual. Afterwards, I had myself convinced of this for two months until a dream of kissing Bram (and the like) left me unable to sleep for days out of fear of closing my eyes and seeing one curly-haired boy. After three days, I went to sleep and accepted the warm embrace of the boy I could only escape to in a dreamland. It turns out, it's just a natural by product of Bram.

> Dear Blue,
> 
> Dr. Seuss said you know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams. Which is kind of fucked up. Because I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with you and the only reason I can’t sleep is because I know that it’s never going to happen. And green eggs and ham is truly a disgusting combination. I know it’s weird to critique the writing of a guy who died 27 years ago, but I didn’t have a Tumblr to scream into the void 27 years ago (and I also wasn’t exactly alive, but that’s a minor detail). English seems to be your thing, so maybe you’ll understand.
> 
> Sincerely, Jacques


	2. A Multi-verse

 

> Dear Blue,
> 
> I can’t even begin to explain to you how strange our relationship is. I mean, it’s like I know you well enough to know that something would make you laugh, but not well enough to actually be able to send that thing. We exist somewhere in a status between acquaintance and friend. I spend more time contemplating sending you student athlete memes than my own school work.
> 
> Sincerely, Jacques

     Despite enjoying my friends' company, I’m not necessarily excited about our drive to school on any given day. And being as I haven’t returned any messages, save for one in the group chat saying that yes, I was still picking everyone up for school, I know that this car ride is going to be painful. I wish so badly that Abby lived closest because I can’t deal with the silent treatment Leah gives me as she gets in the car.

     I don’t want to be the first one to break it, but I figure I owe her a moment of bravery after a weekend of radio silence.

    “I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think to say because I don’t know what one says to their best friend they’ve been lying to for almost two years.

     Leah gives me a very Leah look. A look that says “Really”.

     My foot is immediately reaching for the peddle. I need someone to distract me from Leah’s death glare, for at least a minute. The sooner I get to Nick, the sooner that will happen. Or so I think. But Nick must be running late because he’s not outside when I get to his house.

     Jesus. I didn’t know silence could be so loud.

     “Who is she?” Leah says, clear as day.

     But I’m a terrible person, so I pretend otherwise. “What?”

     It buys me time, but I hate myself.

     “I assume that it is actually your Tumblr, otherwise, you wouldn’t have blown us all off. So..who is she?” If I didn’t know Leah, I would say she sounded stern. But Leah’s never stern, she’s just aggressively sad.

     Nick’s heading towards the car and I breathe a little easier.

     “I’m not ready to talk about it. I shouldn’t have hung up, though. I should’ve just told you.”

     “I saw the blog. It goes back to Freshman year. How much time could you possibly need?”

     The car door is opening and Nick slides into the back seat like it’s any other day. It is not any other day.

     “Sup Si. Leah.” He nods in our respective directions. Leave it to Nick to be the reasonable friend. And that’s not an insult to Leah, either. I’m far from a reasonable friend. I mean, sure, coming out is supposed to be my thing and Blue goes with that, but Leah Burke is fiercely loyal and deserves at least some explanation as to why her best friend of eleven years up and left her high and dry on his love life (or lack thereof). It must be unnerving to know that strangers on Tumblr know more about her best friend than her.

     Nick has grown uncomfortable with silence (a byproduct of Garrett) which is a blessing on a day like this. He’s automatically rambling about soccer practice. I zone out mostly but catch pieces of what appears to be one, lengthy story.

     “And then Garrett literally murdered Bram in the middle of the scrimmage.”

     For the first time in ten minutes, I will myself to look at Leah, eyebrows raised.

     “What the fuck are you talking about Nick?” It appears Leah has found her voice.

     “Just wanted to make sure you were both still listening. Anyway, he did kind of murder Bram, but in the playing sense, not the criminal sense.”

     “I’m going to kill you in the criminal sense if you don’t stop talking about soccer.” Leah is rolling her eyes at me and even smiling a little. I think it’s a win.

     “Well excuse me for trying to break the tension.” Nick huffs and throws up his hands like a metaphorical white flag.

     By the time Abby gets in the car, Leah and Nick’s back and forth is almost a full-fledged argument. I can’t tell if they’re joking or serious because every so often Leah will throw her head back and laugh and say something along the lines of “Nick are you fucking kidding me?”

     “No, I’m not fucking kidding you. What’s wrong with capitalism?”

     “What isn’t wrong with capitalism, Nick? Can you answer me that?”

     From the rear-view mirror, I can see Abby swaying her head back and forth, like a clock hand ticking the seconds of this car ride away. Same, Abby, same.

     Which brings me to the point, that by the time I’ve gotten to school I’ve forgotten that there are far larger problems than Nick and Leah’s political spats. Like the fact that every kid at school knows about and has likely read an entire emotional blog about a boy I’m in love with. My only solace comes from knowing that I was smart enough not to mention pronouns or specifics like Bram’s soccer calves. Every girl ( and a few boys, I’m sure) who read my blog would have entertained the idea of me being in love with Bram. I’m really not ashamed though. In terms of people to be in love with, Bram is a great choice. He’s smart and grammatical. He’s funny without ever trying. He’s definitely the kind of guy to answer a toy phone if a kid gave him one. He’s the guy parents could only dream of for their daughters. How problematic that is for me.

     Over the summer, Nick and Garrett had made it their mission to complete a docuseries on Astrophysics. Not sober, of course. I didn’t mind it to be honest. It probably wasn’t as fascinating sober, but I can’t say it was totally terrible. On the particular night in question, the episode was addressing a multiverse theory. The physicist looked like a Back to the Future type mad scientist, all big rimmed glasses and eccentric rumpled clothing. It amused Nick and Garrett and I briefly wondered if the producers truly did know their consumer.

     Bram was unsurprisingly quiet, intensely focused on the TV from his seat at Garrett’s kitchen counter stool. I think he had been eating, but that seemed like forever ago. It was like everything only existed in this moment.

     “If it’s true, if we live in a multiverse, it would categorically change the way we view not only astrophysics but life itself.”

     The screen switched from Doc Jr. to one of many scripted scenes. A “doctor”  appeared on the screen, walking through a hospital.

     The narrator’s voice was distinct, “In this universe, you’re a doctor. In another, you’re a doctor, but you chose to wear red scrubs instead of blue today.”

     Jesus Christ, the script was so low budget. I was about to laugh when the voice boomed through the room again.

     “In this universe, your marriage ended in divorce. She got full custody of the kids, and you got a short stick, but in another universe, you and your partner Fred were together until the end.”

     I looked at Garrett and Nick to see their eyes glazed over, pure, genuine shock overtaking their faces. It was the face they had been wearing the entire series, like these clips strung together held the secrets of the world. I felt hot with angst. My anxiety is like the constant heat of mortification, except I never know what I’m supposed to be embarrassed about. At that moment, I could’ve gladly crawled into a ball and let it overtake the entirety of my being.

     It didn’t help that his eyes were on me. I felt them burning into my skin the moment he looked at me. My face flushed on principle. When I risked a look, his expression was unreadable. I briefly toyed with the idea that in some universe Bram wasn’t straight.

     “So are we just going to pretend that the whole Creek Secret thing didn’t happen?” Garrett wonders aloud.

     It’s lunch, and I’m halfway through swallowing an oreo that is suddenly on the verge of coming back up. Sure, people were whispering all day, but no one had the actual nerve to ask me about anything. Two freshmen got close when I was in the library during first period, but one look from Leah had sent them back to the outskirts of the room. That was another thing to be grateful for, research projects. They kept everyone busy in English and made for a great excuse to fuck off to the library with your human shield of a friend. I didn’t even have time to see Bram, before Leah was whisking me away, grabbing the last two passes from Mr. Wise’s desk.

     “Garrett!” Abby launches a fry across the table.

     Garrett makes an attempt to catch it with his mouth and I almost feel sorry when the oily potato hits him square on his forehead. He had spent countless hours at the dermatologist last semester to achieve a nearly perfect skin complexion after years of “unsightly acne” as he would come to call it.

     “What? I just want to be sure we’re all on the same page!”

     “All those who think Garrett is an asshat, say I.” Leah orders.

     “I,” votes the table, unanimously, save for Garrett, who simply pouts like a kicked puppy.

     “See we’re all on the same page,” Leah sneers.

     “Et tu, Bram?”

     “To be honest, I have no idea what went down on Creek Secret, but you’re definitely an asshat.” Bram smiles like it’s a compliment. I think I would be honored.

     “What?” It’s almost instinctual. I don’t even realize I’m addressing him until the question is out of my mouth.

     All eyes at the table are on me. Then Bram. Then me, again.

     Bram’s eyes are steady on mine.

     “What?” He reverses the question back to me like some fucked up game of Uno.

     “It’s just--” I lose my voice midway through answering because Bram is already pulling out his phone.

     “Garrett, quick question. How many times did your mother drop you on your head and can she do it again?”

     “Well for your information Leah, my mother only dropped me three times, and I don’t think she can lift this 150 pounds of pure muscle anymore.” Garrett winks.

     “We love a thicc queen.”

     “Thank you, Abby. At least someone here appreciates my--”

     “Shit. That’s _your_ Tumblr?” Bram’s looking at me like he’s seen a ghost. Concern is a cute look on cute Bram Greenfeld. It’s inconceivable that I’m the reason he looks like this.

     “That’s what I’m saying. Who the fuck even leaked that?” Garrett is quick to chime back in.

     The truth bubbles in my throat but Bram is looking at me like something that needs to be protected and I never want it to stop. I should tell them that Martin Addison confronted me weeks ago about getting him a date with Abby, and I told him it would never happen. That he was persistent and I almost saw myself in him, so I invited him to a few Waffle House nights with Abby for studying lines. That I conveniently left early on a few occasions. That Martin kept pushing for more. That I told him that even though I knew what it felt like to want someone so badly that doesn’t want you, he had to accept it. That I shrugged it off when he said “Just watch Spier” hours before my Tumblr got leaked. At the end of the day, I was still the idiot who left my Tumblr open when I knew Martin Addison had it out for me. The idiot who lied to his friends. The idiot that Bram won’t look at like this anymore.

     I almost don’t notice I’m lying.

     “No idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have more dedication to this than my school work. Again, I'm a sucker for fan catering so leave me suggestions (:


	3. A Night Out Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow ok it’s been a long time but to be honest, a lotttttt happened in my life but I'm back to writing. Also wanted to clarify some things about the story: so yes Simon has been running the blog since freshman year, (I realized the first chapter made it sound like he didn’t start liking Bram until the beginning of junior year-the year this story takes place in- but it’s more so that he didn’t want to acknowledge until the beginning of junior year that Bram had such a large effect on him especially that night flashbacked to in the first chapter). Also, the blog isn’t just about Bram bc that would lowkey be a lot lmao, it moreso just revolves around his feelings Okay hope that helps and without further ado

> Dear Blue,
> 
> Being stuck on a Ferris wheel would be better with you.
> 
> Sincerely, Jacques 

     “Get in the car, Spier.”

     “No offense, but why are you here?” 

     Nick rolls his eyes and repeats himself. “Get in the car Spier. There’s no time for questions.”

     I check my phone. _8:00 pm._ It’s hardly an improper hour on a Friday night to be leaving my house by my parents' standards, but it’s too late an hour to be making last-minute secondary plans. Sure the primary plan had been to binge-watch The Great British Bake Off with Nora, but a promise is a promise. And these days I need to mentally prepare myself for a “late night adventure” (as Nick had so eloquently phrased it in his text that arrived only two minutes before he did).

     “Look.” Nick sighs and I mentally apologize for being the worst friend ever lately. “I noticed you stopped coming to our soccer practices.”

     I swallow hard. “Yea?”

     “Yeah, dude of course. And I know why too, but we really don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. And for what it’s worth, he feels really dumb it took that for him to notice and he’s really sorry.”

     I feel frozen at my spot leaned into the open window frame of the passenger side. The worst thought is running through my head; _Bram knows._ How I’m not even sure, but that is completely and utterly beside the point.

      “Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I came here to, I don’t know, cheer you up, not make things worse. It’s just.. he feels really bad. He honestly asked me if he should just sit with the soccer guys at lunch for a little while until you get over it.”

     I don’t know what Nick sees in my face but he’s quickly clarifying. “Not that he’s expecting you to just get over it. He knows it might take some time, but...yeah.”

     I’m quiet for a minute, contemplating what to say, but Nick starts again.

     “He actually texted me while I was on my way over here. He left his book in my car after practice and apparently he really needs it for some project this weekend, but I can totally drop it off tomorrow morning if it would be too awkward. I mean, his house is on the way, but I really don’t mind.”

     “No offense, but Bram’s house is hardly on the way to anything.” It’s the first full sentence I can manage. I can’t imagine what Nick’s plans are if they involve us driving thirty minutes out to Bram’s. Technically I’ve never been there, but Bram always says it's about the most boring, secluded neighborhood ever and it’s at least an hour from downtown with weekend traffic.

     “What? I’m talking about Garrett.”

     “Oh-I uhm, I thought--”

     “Wait, you thought I was talking about Bram this whole time?” Nicks looking at me expectantly. “And what did Bram do? And is that why you’re skipping out on our practices?”

     “Nothing. Bram didn’t do anything!” I’m clarifying almost too quickly and I silently pray that Nick just thinks I’m being the usual weird Simon. “That’s why I was so confused. But wait, uhm, why does Garrett think I’m mad at him?’

     “Uh, see that’s a really good question.” Nick trills his lips. He looks like he regrets saying anything at all.

     I decide that maybe this is the moment I should be seizing to show Garrett I’m not a completely awful friend.

     “You know what, nevermind. So where are we headed after Garrett’s?” 

     “I thought you’d never ask, Spier.”

     Ten minutes later, Garrett against the driver’s side door of Nick’s car. He’s been rambling nonstop since we pulled up and I’m starting to wonder how it’s possible that I haven’t seen him take a breath in at least a solid minute. Behind him, Bram is scrolling through his phone, completely unaware his best friend is about to suffocate. I wonder if he would even notice. Bram always seems so completely unaware of his surroundings outside of soccer. I wonder how it's even possible to be so oblivious in one area of your life and completely receptive in another. Maybe it’s like those people that are so controlling in their real life, that they are completely passive in the bedroom. Those are thoughts that definitely don’t belong in an internal monologue on Bram Greenfeld while he’s standing maybe six feet away.

     “Hey, Simon.” Garrett’s voice shakes me from my thoughts. I’m grateful.

     “Sup, Garrett.” I do my best to sound completely sincere. I don’t know why Garrett thinks I’m mad at him, but I’m trying to do damage control in the least awkward way possible, with minimal discussion needed. I can see Nick making wide eyes as if trying to communicate to Garrett that he really need not to apologize.

     Garrett’s never been one for subtlety. 

     “I’m really sorry, Spier. I know I didn’t make this whole Creek Secret thing easy.”

     I feel Bram’s eyes looking at me before I see them. I avert mine back to the matter at hand.

     “I’m not mad at you. It’s just been a long week. And I honestly ditched soccer practice to get some extra homework done.” I can feel myself lying, but it’s not like I’m about to admit that I skipped watching their practice because Bram’s calves were the last thing I needed on my mind. And also Garrett seemed genuinely apologetic for what was only a handful of comments at the lunch table. There was no need to drag out his kicked puppy dog face.

     “Oh. Uh, well, in that case, thanks for being really cool about it all.”

     I nod my head and the conversation pauses all together.

     Finally, Garrett says, “Oh, uhm, my textbook.”

     “Oh, yeah- Literally why we came here.” Nick’s leaning over into the back seat to retrieve said book.

     “Speaking of ‘we’. What are y’all doing tonight? Me and Bramington over here bought and ounce tonight and there’s a Big Mouth special with our names on it.” 

     “Shit an ounce?” Nick looks like he’s contemplating his entire life. He looks back towards me and immediately, I realize he’s silently asking for permission. I hate being that friend because everyone assumes I just think I’m better than everyone else and above smoking, but I’m really just scared of how open High Simon is. Like what might come out if Sober Simon clocks out for the night and Bram’s there to see it all. Technically, I’ve been high around Bram a bunch of times, but it’s different now because all my secrets are out on the table. One slip and Bram will put everything together. Like Soccer Bram will take over and suddenly realize that I, Simon Spier, am the gayest gay that ever gayed, and all for Bram.

     Maybe it’s the way I take to long, but Nick is suddenly declining the invitation. “You know, we were actually headed down to some Riverside house party. This girl I still keep a streak with from middle school invited me and I thought why not.”

     “Oh, so there’s a girl.” It’s not a question. “Nice, dude.” Garrett looks back at Bram, but he’s still looking down at his phone.

     “Yo Bramington, house party, you down?”

     Bram sarcastically makes like he’s weighing his options, before letting out a chuckle.

     “Ah, why not.”

     I’m about three shots in when I see exactly why not. Garrett is attempting to hit on Nick’s Snapchat friend from middle school and it’s going comically bad. Not in a creepy way. They’re both totally interested in each other, but Garrett is about one sway away from knocking them both to the ground. I let out a little snort and he attempts to steady himself on a wall that isn’t there.

     “He’s totally crossed." 

     I’m startled at Bram’s voice, but he seems to not notice. When I glimpse over, he’s in the middle of chugging on the contents of a red solo cup.

     “What was your first clue.” I lean back against the hallway wall, and Bram follows suit.

     ‘I don’t know, Blue.” Bram laughs a little at his own joke.

     “Blue?” I’m sober enough to be on high alert at anything Blue-related, especially when the words are being uttered out of Bram’s lips so casually.

     “Ya know, like the dog? Don’t make me explain a pun. Don’t be that guy.”

     “Oh. No, I get it. Good one." 

      “Damn Si, I work up the courage to come all the way over here and deliver you a pretty damn good pun while I’m plastered and you don't even crack a smile. I’m hurt.” 

     “Making a joke that bad must take liquid courage.”

     “It’s good and you know it.”

     “I know.”

     Bram sips on his drink, but it doesn’t quite cover the small smile gracing his lips.

     “Speaking of Blue though, I’m sorry about Garrett. I know he already apologized, but I feel like I should have said something.”

     My gut clenches at the sound of the word. Three shots were a terrible idea. But on the other hand, maybe four would’ve helped the nerves.

     “I really don’t know why everyone’s making such a big deal.”

     Bram nods. “People are just weird about love.”

     “What? I’m talking about why everyone’s acting like I’m mad at Garrett over some dumb comments. That’s just how Garrett is.” I look at Bram and suddenly it dawns on me that Bram is significantly less sober than I. Even under the shitty yellow fluorescents I can tell the whites of his eyes are tinged red and his leaning against the wall is anything but casual.

     Bram looks a little embarrassed, “You’re a better dude than I Simon. I mean I can’t believe he seriously even thought you and Abby were a thing. Especially with the whole Nick thing.”

     It feels out of character of Bram to be gossiping, but he’s clearly three sheets to the wind (or maybe four).

     “Abby and me? Garrett thinks we’re a thing? Thought we were a thing?” I feel my voice raising with each question, and Bram’s wince makes it all the more terrible.

     “No, Abby and I,” he corrects. “I mean Abby and you, Fuck, it’s a grammar thing.” And if that isn’t just like Bram Greenfeld to be some kind of drunk and high trying to fix my grammar. It’s a lost cause, but a beautiful attempt. I also mentally note that Bram should swear more often.

     “And what Nick thing?”

     “Fuck I’ve really said too much and honestly I’m compromised right now.” He holds up his cup as proof.

     Nosey Simon is conspiring with Drunk Simon to figure out what Bram’s talking about, but the most logical part of me says that I shouldn’t push Bram when he’s drunk to tell me information he would regret sober.

     “It’s not a big deal, Bram.”

     “No, it’s just-” Bram stops himself and sighs. “How about we trade?”

     “What?” I squint at Bram, trying to figure out if he’s worse than I thought. “Trade what?”

     Bram laughs. “A question for a question.”

     I debate for about ten seconds before I realize this is Bram I’m talking to. The guy is hardly into speaking, let alone asking soul-searching questions.

     “Yeah, sure, why not." 

     “Blue... do you love them?” The question is out of his mouth so fast, I wonder if I somehow hallucinated it in a tipsy state of mind. I figure vodka isn’t that strong.

     “I don’t know.” The words are leaving my mouth before I can process them. “I mean, I guess I’ve never really given it that much thought.” _Lie._ “I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen the posts. They speak for themselves." 

     Bram looks guilty, but I carry on.

     “Look, don’t feel bad, everyone has” I sigh. “It’s just that I guess I don’t know _them_ well enough to say that ‘yes’ I love them. It’s more like I know that given the right circumstances I definitely could, ya know?”

     “ Ye-.” Bram’s voice is horse from alcohol. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

     The realization hits that maybe Bram could love someone too. I’m completely nauseous.

     “Hey, are you okay, _Si_? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bram’s warm brown eyes are searching mine, concern ridden.

     I swallow down the alcohol threatening to come back up.

     “I know I’m pale, but you don’t have to be so rude about it Bram.” I offer a half smile.

     Bram looks mildly unconvinced at first but rolls his eyes and smiles anyway. 

     “You’re practically translucent.”

     I scoff. “Alright, my turn.”

     “Your turn for what?” Bram quirks an eyebrow.

     “You said I’d get a question if I answered yours and since I did then--”

     “I’m just messing with you, _Si._ ” Bram laughs and puts a hand on my shoulder and I silently pray he won’t drop it. After a moment, he does. “Alright so Garrett--”

     “No, nevermind that.”

     “I don’t follow. I thought you wanted me to explain the Garratt, Nick, Abby thing. Maybe I should’ve paced myself.” Bram straightens himself up against the wall.

     "No, I just changed my mind. You’re fine.” 

     “Oh.”

     “Yeah.”

     “Simon,” Bram whispers. He leans in a little too close for my brain to process what he’s saying.

     “Hmm?”

     “What’s your new question?”

     “Oh, uhm, well when you said you know what I meant about the whole Blue thing. What did you mean?”

     Bram pauses against the wall. “Ahaa, I’ll take the next question, Alex.”

     “I’m Simon. Are you okay Bram?” I feign worry and wave my hands in his eye-line.

     “Simon, are you serious right n--” My straight face falters and Bram rolls his eyes at me.

     “You’re the absolute worst. I’m sobering up, anyway.”

     “Right. Bram, you’re a cheater and a drunk.”

     “That’s what my wife keeps telling me.”

     “Very funny.”

     “People are like vast rooms with tiny windows. That’s all I’ll say about that.”

     “Ah, the infamous vast rooms speech. That pretentious answer would only work if I hadn’t spent an entire class helping you refine it.” 

     “Hey, you said it was pretty good!” Bram clutches his chest in mock offense.

     It had been. Bram was an amazing writer and spending an entire class listening to him, had hardly been a burden to me. Just thinking about being with Bram and getting to hear the rough drafts of his work before his words smoothed themselves out and took shape on a page was enough to make my heart ache. I could imagine late nights sitting with Bram, crumpled papers all around us, laughing at my horrible grammar as I attempt to help to liven Bram’s work.

     “Oh shit, hey guys, we’re headed out, you ready to go?” Garrett called from the other end of the hallway.

     I push myself off the wall and start making my way down the hall. Bram takes easy strides in line with mine.

     “It was better than pretty good,” I mumble. Bram elbows me and smiles. Fuck.

     All four of us gather at the front door. Garrett is less notably messed up, and I wonder how he managed to sober up so quickly, unlike Bram.

     “Shit, guys, I feel bad. We haven’t even been here that long, but I’ve got a project to do tomorrow, and normally I’d take the L but it’s a group assignment, and Taylor would actually have my head if I bailed on my part.” Garrett looks remorseful, but there’s no need. I’m kind of relieved. Talking to Bram about Blue is like dangling on the edge of a rollercoaster, waiting for the imminent drop.

     “Yeah, and I don’t know about you guys, but honestly, I’m starved,” Nick complains.

     “He’s eating for three.” Garrett makes to wack at Nick but he jumps back in time.

     “Not Susan and Rebecca!” Nick rubs his stomach.

     Ignoring them, I make my one and only request. “WaHo.”

     “Shocker.” Garrett rolls his eyes. “Y'all can do whatever you want as long as I get dropped off sometime in the next half hour.”

     “There’s an IHOP down the road, I can drop you guys off, take Princess Garrett home, and then pick you guys back up. Just order me a cinnamon roll pancake to go.”

    “IHOP?” _Seriously?_

     “Don’t get Simon started Nick. I need to leave, Taylor’s already texting me saying she saw my Snapchat story and I better be up by a ‘responsible hour’.” 

     “Hey-”

     “You know what, we can just walk over. It’s in the opposite direction. Just go ahead, we’ll meet back up later,” Bram promises.

     “You sure?” Nick looks at me questioningly.

     “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s no WaHo, but I think we’ll manag--.”

     “Sweet, thanks, dudes.” Garrett’s already making his way out the door before I can finish.

     Bram rolls his eyes. “Come on, Simon.”


	4. A Night Out Part Two

     The cool breeze of a spring night in Georgia fans against my skin. The only sound is the crunch of gravel under our feet as the music of the party faded away two houses ago. The silence between us is comfortable, but I can’t help but wonder what’s running through Bram’s mind. He’s probably just thinking about school or soccer, but the intensity of my curiosity grows with every step. They’re like the ticking of a clock, and I’ve grown aware that our time alone is limited. Still, I can’t bring myself to break the peace of the night.

     Fortunately for me, Bram does.

     “I didn’t answer your question.”

     Somehow, in the rush of Garrett’s desperate plea to get home, I had forgotten. The fact that Bram didn’t is not lost on me. I chance a look at him and am taken away by the sight. The moonlight softly illuminates the silhouette of his face and I wish I could be trapped in this moment until I am ready to let it go.

     “That you didn’t, Mr. Vast Rooms.” I want to play it cool, not ruin it with my eagerness. I don’t know what I’m expecting. It’s not like Bram is going to confess a longheld love for me, but a boy can surely dream.

     “I guess, I didn’t want to be a downer. No one likes a sad drunk.” He smiles, but even in the dark, I can feel the underlying melancholy.

     “What do you mean?” I can feel the knots in my stomach, but I need so badly to know this part of Bram, the part that simmers below the surface and has decided to overflow in my presence.

     “It’s just….” he sighs. “When my parents were separating, my mom said something really similar. That life got in the way, that by the end they barely knew each other. I don’t even think she knows I heard her say it. She probably thought I was in my room. It’s weird the things our brains choose to remember.”

     He looks at me and I feel unnerved like I had no right to proclaim any version of love for this boy without having heard the way he speaks when he’s offering his truth. I mean, if Bram’s life was a movie, I would be a background character. There are whole stories and parts of him that I will never know and that hurts the most.

      “I’ve gone and made everything awkward, haven’t I?”

     I always grew up wishing that I was one of those people who knew what to say. In terms of life skills, that’s probably number one. I, however, was cursed to freeze up at the very moments it was most important to assure an individual that I do, in fact, feel things just as deeply. I want to tell Bram that he makes me want to stand in the light and be brave and tell the world that Blue is a boy. That I’m gay.

     Maybe it’s okay if the light I stand in looks more like the Georgia moon reflected off the boy I love than the harsh glare of daylight.

     “Blue is a boy.”

     I hold my breath and wait for the night to catch fire. I don’t dare look at Bram, because I realize that if I do I might cry. What a way to ruin a perfectly good night.

     “I know, Simon.”

     Maybe it’s the way he says my name, but suddenly a tear is rolling down my face. I wipe it away and pray Bram isn’t look at me. I might actually be the first person to die from embarrassment. All the while, my thoughts are racing with questions. _How does he know? Did someone tell him? How do they know? Does he know it's him?_

      “How?” I croak. The sound of my voice gives away my state and I don’t have to wonder if Bram is looking at me, because I can feel his eyes searching my face.

     “I feel really guilty.” Bram pauses. “On your Tumblr, you made a post about being stuck on a Ferris wheel. It, uhm, sounded familiar. I kind of realized I had seen a post on Creeksecret about being gay and it talked about being stuck on a Ferris wheel.”

     I don’t say anything, because I’m afraid my voice will fail me.

     “I wouldn’t worry or anything, I doubt anyone else remembers the post on Creeksecret. I don’t even know why I remembered it, honestly.”

     “It wasn’t me,” I manage. “I didn’t make the post on Creeksecret. I guess, I just related to it or something. I don't even really remember quoting it.”

      “Yeah.”

     There’s a weird note to Bram’s voice and I wish for the second time that night I could make sense of Bram’s thoughts. I’m filled with dread at the idea that maybe he doesn’t like gay people. I mean, sure we spent the whole night together, but maybe in the midst of his drinking, he managed to forget and now that he remembers he’s suddenly uncomfortable. It sounds nothing like the Bram I know, but my anxiety has shot through the roof tonight. I need answers to questions I’m too scared to ask, but I try anyway. I decide on the least confrontational question, just in case. It’s for the best because we’re almost at IHOP. The bright sign colors the night as we approach.

     “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

     “Because that’s your thing, Simon. You’re supposed to decide when and where and who knows and how you want to say it.”

     Bram reaches for the door to the restaurant and holds it open for me. If tonight was a normal one, I would be geeking over how much this feels like it could be something like a date. Instead, I’m wondering how Bram, the boy who hardly talks unless he has to, could be so good with finding the right words to say. I wish it was a trait he could share.

     After we are seated and receive our drinks, it becomes apparent that I am the ball and chain of this interaction. How do I explain to Bram how much this means to me, without confessing to much more?

     “I’m sorry.”

     I’m surprised and sure I’ve misheard him.

      “What?”

      “I said I’m sorry.” He’s hiding behind a menu, but I know he means it.

      “Why?”

     He puts the menu onto the table and chases my gaze. I give in and see the sympathy written on his face.

     “Because it wasn’t my secret to know. If I could’ve un-remembered the Creeksecret post I would’ve.”

     “The word’s forget.” I smile.

     Bram scoffs. “You do not want to get into an English battle with me. I’ve seen your grades, and I assure you, you will lose.”

     “Fair enough.”

     Bram’s smile loosens. “I meant it, though. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have read your posts. Especially after I found out they were yours.”

      “Why did you?” I wonder out loud.

     Bram looks flustered at the question. “Well, I opened it during lunch that day I found out it was yours. I guess I forgot to close out afterward, so the next time I checked my phone it was still there and I kind of just…” 

     “Kept reading?” I finish for him.

     “Yeah. I guess it was weird, knowing it was you. I mean Taylor kept reblogging stuff, so I saw a lot of it before I knew, but it felt different rereading and knowing. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

     “It does.” It is also the most flattering invasion of privacy I have ever received. I could picture Bram reading every post, trying to make sense of my words. It’s a dangerous and exciting line to walk.

     I think it’s a closed case until Bram continues, “After I realized it was you, it made a lot of sense.”

     “How’s that?” Did he think I was obviously gay and the Tumblr was the cherry on top of the gay sundae?

     Bram lets out a silent laugh. “You write the way you speak.”

_Oh._

     “It’s all sentence fragments. You should really work on it.”

     I’m about to make a firm objection when the waitress comes to take our orders. When she’s done I don’t even remember to argue, I’m so enamored with Bram’s presence. I realize that we’re hardly ever alone. In fact, I can count the times we’ve been alone on one hand. I want to tell him so, but I’m worried that he’ll take it the wrong way and figure out that he’s been Blue all along.

      “Does anyone else know? It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me who, or don’t feel like answering at all, by the way.”

      He’s so considerate I would feel obligated to tell him, even if I wasn’t planning on answering.

      “No. Just you.”

     “Oh.”

     “It’s like, no pressure or anything. I’m not gonna make you listen to me talk about it or anything.”

      “You could, though. If you wanted to, of course,” he clarifies.

      “That’s...that’s really nice...thanks.”

     “You don’t need to thank me. We’re friends.”

      It hadn’t occurred to me that Bram would consider us friends. I guess, after tonight, there really isn’t a question about it. Bram Greenfeld has solidified a spot in my life previously unoccupied.

     “I’m thanking you because you’ve been beyond cool about it all.”

     “That’s because not all of us walk around thinking about people as defaults.”

     “Yeah?”

     “Yeah. It’s like straight shouldn't be the default any more than white should be the default.”

     I look at Bram and I’m overwhelmed by the feeling of seeing him tonight for the first time, and of feeling seen for the first time by him, maybe by anyone.

     “Defaults are bullshit." 

     Bram's soft smile spreads slowly across his face. He leans back in the booth onto both his hands. “Defaults are complete bullshit.” 

     By the time Nick arrives, we have long since finished our food, and we’ve flushed out the chatter of drunkness. On the way home, I sit in the back and stare out the window, replaying the events of the night, trying to burn them into my memory, in case it was a one-off. I feel like this night alone could sustain my feelings for far too long. The ride feels drawn out, everyone too tired to make small talk, just a local station humming in the background.

     We drop Bram off at Garretts to get his car. As he’s getting out, Bram mumbles his sleepy, sober goodbyes. We’re pulling out of the neighborhood when a text chimes through.

_Si, I’ve been thinking. Defaulters totally suck, but in another universe, it could be worse. I stay looking on the bright side :)_

 

 

> Creeksecret:
> 
> Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck on a Ferris wheel. One minute I’m on top of the world, and the next, I’m at rock bottom. Over and over, all day long. Because a lot of my life is great, but nobody knows I’m gay.
> 
>                                                        Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So weird but when I started this fic in September, I actually wrote a scene that would basically begin to wrap up the story. I completely forgot about it until I was going through the notes on my phone, but it’s wild how it still fits (I guess subconsciously I’ve been working towards this one ending). 
> 
> Anyway as always comments and suggestions are appreciated bc I’m a sucker for fan catering :)


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